


The Stark Holiday Party

by GealachGirl



Series: The holidays + someone playing the piano + feelings [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Feelings, First Kiss, Fluff, Foggy is a gift, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, I've been reunited with my piano, Love Confessions, M/M, Matt and Jess are bros, Piano, but don't worry about the timeline, it's not that important, post-season 3, so this happened again, that everyone acknowledges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 19:47:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17127620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GealachGirl/pseuds/GealachGirl
Summary: At Tony Stark's annual holiday party, Matt needs some time to himself.He finds a piano. Then Foggy finds him.





	The Stark Holiday Party

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently this is a genre I write because I'm back with another "someone plays the piano during the holiday season and there’s a lot of feelings because the author can’t help herself" fic.
> 
> Also, it occurs to me three years later that Tony Stark would absolutely have a full grand piano, not a baby grand. My bad.

Matt wasn't hiding. There was no reason for that.

Avengers Tower was just full of the Avengers and assorted New York City powered people, and it was loud and all of the glass and chrome warped his sense of space and his depth perception.

There was no reason to hide. He was in a tux, Jess had actually come (thanks mostly to pressure from Trish) and Foggy was with him. It wasn't even the first Stark Holiday Party he'd been to. Just the first time it was on purpose and as himself.

Still, he wasn't hiding. He'd just gotten distracted. Or something.

Without meaning to, he’d found the piano he’d known was in some room all by itself and it drew him in.

It was smooth, new or little-used maybe, a baby grand from what he could tell by how it occupied the space, and just the smallest bit out of tune, not enough to register on any tuners or to the normal ear. It smelled like dusting products, rich, polished wood, the wire stretched out inside and the copper of the foot pedals. The room also held a hint of a person he’d barely met.

Matt had learned how to play. Growing up in the heart of the Catholic Church made it hard to avoid, but he’d never taken to it quite like some of the other kids. Braille sheet music existed, but the church had no convenient way to access it, and needing to feel the music slowed down the process until it lost all its reward, for him and the nun teaching him.

He had learned some things by heart though.

The bench squeaked a little and the cushion was a bit too thick to be comfortable, but the give of it told him it was used more than the piano suggested. A quick skim over the keyboard and Matt’s hands found their positions.

Like everywhere else in this God-forsaken building, a whole wall of the room was floor-to-ceiling windows, but the way the sound bounced back here wasn’t disorienting. Instead it rose and spread, and the echo was a little like being in church.

The song came back to him, carved deep into his muscle memory, and the piano’s keys were silky smooth. They gave without too much pressure, adding to the growing evidence that this piano was well-used and well-loved. The notes spilled out and filled the room and he felt something in him loosen that had nothing to do with his night life.

Matt heard the sound of footsteps under the third repetition of the chorus of “Little Drummer Boy” and tipped his head toward the door.

“Hey buddy. Did you get lost?” Foggy’s voice was light and carefree and Matt let the final notes ring out before he turned toward it.

“The opposite,” he replied. “Last time I was here I knew I heard a piano.”

Foggy nodded like that answered his question, and came closer.

“You know, I didn’t know you could even play the piano,” he observed, peering over Matt’s shoulder at the sheet music he clearly hadn’t been following. “Is that a senses thing or a pick-up thing?”

“It’s a Catholic orphanage thing,” Matt said. “It was a way for kids to learn music without having to pay for lessons. They thought it might be good for me.”

Foggy laughed, deep and full and Matt was thrown off again by the total lack of tension. That they could reference the Daredevil so casually now without opening a can of worms. He didn’t know how he’d earned such a blessing, and an uncomfortable voice in his head suggested Fisk and Poindexter were partly responsible.

“Little did they know,” Foggy said when he’d trapped the laugh in his voice so it lit up his words instead of all the air around Matt.

“Oh, they knew. I got into enough fights.”

Foggy graciously decided not to press for details and instead straightened up behind Matt. “So, what are you playing next?” At Matt’s pause he shook his head and probably —

“I rolled my eyes at you,” Foggy informed. “Don’t let my presence intimidate.”

Matt couldn’t help his smile. “Of course not, Foggy. I wouldn’t want to disappoint my adoring fan.” With a few tests, he found his next position and started playing.

This song wasn’t as clear a memory and there wasn’t as steady a pattern to the chords, but Matt remembered liking the challenge. And “O come, O come Emmanuel” was more appropriate for advent anyway.

He knew Foggy wanted to ask why Matt was here, playing the piano for the first time in years rather than socializing at the party they’d been personally invited to. And eventually he’d probably have to figure out how to explain, but not yet. Matt would dwell on that not yet.

After so long being so alone, and then only slightly less so, being suddenly surrounded by people who wanted to help him was a lot to handle. That they wanted to know him better was suffocating. He’d started to be okay with it, but it was overwhelming and sometimes he needed to step back to breathe.

And sometimes he needed to make sure it was real.

One of his hands slipped so he hit an F instead of F# and ruined the chord. He winced, and even Foggy reacted, his breath hitching.

A sigh, a shift of his hand, and Matt started over. He kept his mind focused on the music.

The sudden company aside, the party was also just an assault on all his fronts. Here, it was quiet and he could actually build a mental picture of his space and every single thing in it. He could center himself.    

The song came to an end, and Foggy’s breathing had changed in the way that meant he wanted to say something.

“So.”

“It was just too loud, Fog. I was getting dizzy.”

Foggy made a considering noise and drifted to Matt’s left side. He rested his hip against the piano, and Matt could hear the resulting faint echo of the low notes in the piano’s body. He turned his face toward him, since he knew that was what Foggy was trying to see anyway.

“I assumed that. Trust me, it was getting loud for _me_. But I’ve seen you at loud parties and this isn’t your typical bathroom hideout. You’re up three flights of stairs and down a hall,” he pointed out. “And you’re doing that stilling, blank-slate thing that means there’s something else going on and you don’t want anyone to know.

“And, like, you don’t have to tell me. You’re allowed to have personal things, just — you can talk to me. Always. I’m here for you and I think we’ve been through enough shit by now for that to have sunk into your thick skull, but I have to be sure with you sometimes.”

His heart was beating steady and true, a little quicker maybe, which Matt chalked up to how much Foggy wanted him to know he meant it.

Matt breathed out. Foggy knew about his issues, but it still wasn’t easy to talk about how much it hurt to be surrounded by people one second and all alone when they got tired of him, or the effort he took, in the next.

But Foggy had already been around for 10 years, and he put up with more of Matt’s bullshit than anyone else ever had. Matt did believe he’d always at least have him.

That Foggy was so willing — and eager — to restart Nelson & Murdock was good evidence. That he forgave Matt stealing his wallet and trying to leave _him_ was even better.  

“Sometimes I just need to take a step back,” he said finally, shrugging one shoulder. “Get perspective before I get lost in all of it.”

He’d been so starved for attachments as a kid that he made them too fast and always wound up heartbroken when they ended. By the time he’d left for college, he’d gotten it mostly under control, but sometimes he still got burned.

Foggy made a soft noise and shifted closer so he was sharing Matt’s space. Unlike with other people, it wasn’t overwhelming or uncomfortable. Matt’s space just expanded to include him, like it always had. Matt normally tried to rein it in, but now he let it happen.

“It’s okay to let yourself go with other people sometimes, Matty. You’re not committing to anything.” His voice cushioned all of Matt’s jagged feelings, like it knew exactly what he needed. He tipped his face up to meet Foggy’s.

“It’s always okay with you,” he said before he could think about it.

Foggy held his breath and a few seconds passed before he shook his head sharply. “No. Nope. It’s Christmas, we’re at a party, we’re not getting into that right now,” he said.

Matt wanted to explain what he meant, but he knew better than to keep digging that hole, so he tried a different way of saying it.

“I don’t worry about the _you_ part of it,” he said instead. “You’re not going to leave me. Not for good anyway. And you’re right, we’ve been through enough shit that it’s sunk in now.” For all Foggy had known, Matt had _died_ and the first thing he’d done was open his arms again.  

His voice was smaller when he worked up the courage to use it. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

They’d done this already. Apologized for everything that drove them apart. Matt for being distant, closed-off, inconsiderate, absent. Foggy for being impatient, closed-minded, judgmental. But Matt couldn’t keep the words off his lips. And he couldn’t decipher Foggy’s silence.   

"We’ve been over this Matty,” he said, but his sigh was infused with affection and Matt could hear how his posture changed, his muscles loosening and breath relaxing. He dared to hope. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And then he was even closer, nudging Matt to the side and joining him on the bench. Matt didn’t know what to do with the feelings rising in his chest so he returned to the keyboard and the last seasonally appropriate song he had memorized.

After the few measures it took for him to wring the true melody out, and once the notes were flowing the way they were supposed to, Foggy started humming. Matt carefully did not stumble, but his chest felt flooded with warmth and it was a close thing.

He’d have to do something about those feelings eventually.

Foggy’s voice rose and fell with the notes and Matt played through the song a few more times, wanting to stay in this moment forever, surrounded by the swell of “What Child is This” echoing around him, and with Foggy’s warmth pressed against his left side.

They kept bumping into each other with Matt having to reach for low notes and Foggy taking deep breaths to keep up with the song’s tempo. Everything was soft and perfect.

It had always been easy to get lost in Foggy because he never felt like he was actually lost.

The song eventually had to end, though the sound continued vibrating through the piano and in the air around it when he did stop, and that warmth lingered, too.

“I gotta say dude. You aren’t half bad at that,” Foggy said, leaning back on the bench. Matt couldn’t tell where he was looking, but he had an idea.

Matt huffed a laugh. “You think it’s a good fallback if law doesn’t work out?”  

“You might need to expand your repertoire. And I don’t know what piano gigs pay, but I’m sure they won’t be enough for Columbia law school debt.”

“Maybe if I make it to Carnegie Hall.”

With Foggy’s warm voice and equally warm breath ghosting over Matt’s cheek, it was easy for him to decide what to do with his feelings.

It wasn’t baseless, either. He’d spent enough time listening to Foggy’s heartbeat, to the way his body eased around Matt, and how his voice changed, something fundamental and basic in its composition, no matter how the rest of his tone sounded. It was an informed decision Matt was making, but there was still a flicker of nerves behind his conviction.

He was always asking for so much from Foggy, and now he was going to ask for more.

At the initial pressure of his lips, though, Foggy’s hand flew up to cup his jaw, his ear bracketed between Foggy’s thumb and first finger, the others curling around the base of Matt’s skull. He held Matt there as he kissed him back, tentative at first, but when Matt didn’t break away, Foggy leaned into it and Matt surged closer.

It was almost too much.

Every nerve ending in his lips was alive, spurred on by Foggy’s, and then by his tongue, swiping softly along the bottom one. Matt’s mouth opened and he pressed closer, feeling slightly unsteady at all of it, and if the stuttering of Foggy’s heart or the small tremors in his hands were any indication, he was feeling the same thing.

The thing about Foggy was that he was always willing to offer — and to accept what Matt could give in return.

“How long?” Matt gasped when the burning in his lungs convinced him to let go. But Foggy didn’t let him move far, and he was surrounded again by the rush of his — no, _their_ , heartbeats.

Foggy shook his head, his hands still on Matt’s face, one of his thumbs rubbing back and forth against his cheek. “The second I saw you? When I saw our sign for the first time? All the times you came back?” He paused and Matt felt the wet laugh against his mouth more than he heard it. “Every second you’ve been back, back?”

“Oh,” Matt said faintly, and he felt a little lightheaded. Foggy bumped their foreheads together, clearly returning the question. Matt skimmed one hand down Foggy’s side, from his shoulder to his hip, and leaned more of his weight into him.

“The first time I was sure you wouldn’t leave — when you left a party and went back to the dorm with me even though you’d been looking forward to it all week. You still wanted to be with me after that. Whenever you talked about the future like we were going to share it,” he said.

He felt the wide smile on his face and wrapped both of his hands around Foggy’s wrists to feel the thundering of his pulse against his skin, too, like feeling it in the air wasn’t enough. “But especially when you came to the gym before we nailed Fisk the first time, and every time you stayed or came back after that.”

Matt felt and heard and smelled the effect that admission had on Foggy, but his friend didn’t say anything. Instead he kissed Matt again, soft and sincere, and Matt could taste the future.

After more kissing, slow and exploratory as they settled into this new reality, Foggy finally shifted away. Matt frowned, was about to protest, when Foggy said, “So, have you got anything else maestro?” The words curved on his smile and the warmth in his tone infused them with life.

Matt trailed his right hand down the keyboard, heard the smallest ripple of the strings stirring inside the piano’s body, and shrugged. “I might be able to pull off ‘Away in a Manger’ or ‘Silent Night.’ I don’t remember them as well.” He was pretty sure he could do it, though.

“Then we’ll just have to get back to the party downstairs and the people who are undoubtedly waiting for us. That is what I came up here for,” Foggy said, standing from the piano and offering Matt his hand. “Jess was worried.”

Matt laughed and took Foggy’s hand. “Lie.” Because that was something they could joke about, too.

“Okay, but she did notice you slip away and she might have mentioned it when she noticed me worrying.” Foggy pulled him to his feet and tucked Matt’s hand in the crook of his elbow, but he was also holding out the cane Matt had left with his coat when they arrived. “For the dizziness. If I noticed the echoes downstairs, I can’t imagine what it was doing to you.”

The well of feelings dug somehow deeper. Not just Foggy helping his blind friend, but acknowledging that, for Matt’s senses, it was even worse.

“You know, you said the cane helps you stay steady when there’s a lot of information to filter through,” Foggy continued slowly when Matt didn’t move.

“Of course,” Matt replied, taking the cane from Foggy and worrying the handle until the strap was over his wrist, and then a little more.

“You okay, buddy?” Foggy's voice was still careful and Matt smelled the cortisol mixing into his bloodstream, heard the pick-up in his heartrate that carried it faster.

“I think I’ve been in love with you for a long time,” he replied quietly, rubbing Foggy’s sleeve with a thumb. He wasn’t sure it was loud enough to hear until Foggy’s heart stuttered and Matt got the impression he was staring.

“My eyebrows are raised, Murdock,” Foggy confirmed. His tone was just a little shaky, barely noticeable. If Matt didn't know everything about him, he probably wouldn't have picked it up. “You didn’t mention that before.”

“It's been a slow realization,” Matt replied. “In light of the past couple of months.” He took a moment to really think about it for the first time, thought about each instance in their lives when Foggy had made him feel like he had someone who cared about him again.

“The feelings definitely go back, though?” Foggy asked. Hesitant. Nervous. Matt could feel it where they were touching.

Matt nodded. At least to their second year of law school, when their friendship had lasted long enough for Matt to let the feelings solidify.

“Good,” the word was out on a breath and Matt didn’t have time to ask before Foggy’s mouth was on his again, for a long, long moment. And then: “I might be in love with you, too. And it feels like it’s been forever. So — just if you were wondering.”

The grin that exploded over Matt’s face was almost painful because of how fast it developed and how big it grew. Foggy’s heart swooped and Matt sensed the flush creeping up his face, and he tightened the hand in Foggy’s arm.

“Okay you look like you’re going to break. Let’s get back to the party and get more alcohol into you so you can properly handle your feelings,” Foggy said, tugging at Matt’s hand with his arm.

“Whatever you say, Foggy.” Matt unfolded his cane and Foggy’s other hand crossed over so it was resting on top of Matt’s, sandwiching it between elbow and palm. At that moment, it was like Foggy’s pulse was the only thing he could feel.

 “We should probably leave Barnes’ piano alone anyway,” he said, and the pulse jumped.

****

When they got back to the party, Matt was more than happy for his cane and for Foggy’s arm. He heard laughter and the clinking of glasses filling the room. Somewhere across the room or maybe nearby, Tony Stark was talking about one of his newest projects, but Matt didn’t focus hard enough to actually hear anything about it. Ultimately, everything was kind of a buzz.

Matt could sense Jess’ unimpressed look before Foggy narrated it, but it was better for the description he muttered in his ear.

“What the hell, Murdock?” she demanded. She gestured widely and he could hear her drink splash against the glass sides of its container. He didn’t need his sight to guess what her eyebrows were doing. Foggy provided the information anyway, right before he peeled away, muttering something about drinks. “I was told you’d actually be here.”

“Mr. Nelson did say you missed me,” he replied easily, smiling the way that always made her both annoyed and affectionate. The feeling was a wonderful sound.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice how close you two were standing,” she retorted. The tone of her approval, layered under the fake scorn, made him feel warm.

“We wouldn't expect anything less from a PI of your reputation.”

Her eyeroll might as well have been audible, but she still narrated it.

"I'll kick your ass if you hurt him,” she said. Then she raised her voice and directed it over Matt’s shoulder. “Same goes for you.” Her tone was only a little dry.

“Wouldn't expect anything less,” Foggy replied, holding out a flute of champagne as he settled beside Matt again. “Two o’clock buddy.”

She ignored that and Matt listened as she studied them. Before, Foggy might have been intimidated by Jess’ impassive attention, but his pulse was even and he sipped his drink while he waited for her to say something.

“I can’t tell which one of you made the first move,” she said finally. “But I get the feeling I should be congratulating you, Nelson, for finally getting him,” a sharp gesture toward Matt, who was drinking innocently, “to own up to his feelings.”

Foggy went pleasantly warm as his blood hummed up to his skin, and Matt’s arm found its way around his waist. “Thanks, Jones,” he said.

“God you two are gross,” she sighed.

Foggy’s arm settled across his shoulders as he laughed, and Matt smiled at the thought that he could have more of everything than he'd ever imagined

**Author's Note:**

> I’m new here, though I’ve been reading fic for a few months. I have a lot of thoughts about their relationship dynamic in season three, so this won't be my only contribution. If you’d also like a new fandom to explore this holiday season, HBO war would be happy to have you. (FYI, Wilson Bethel (Dex) shows up in one of those shows, along with Karen’s dad.)
> 
> For what it’s worth, I can be found on [tumblr](http://booksandcoffeeandink.tumblr.com/). Mostly I swear about politics in the tags and reblog things I find interesting, which includes Marvel and DD when they pop up. But I’ll follow back.


End file.
